Julia, Ben and Lisa Ch. 20

Ch. 20: Aftermath

It was 70 years to the day when I wrote that first part, the part about Julia busting me over stealing her panties, the part about her cooking up a girl-plan. Today I'm a bit over 88 years young. Time enough that I thought it right to get down on paper some of what happened back then. To me, and to Julia. To me and Angela too, and to all the others I told you about. But mostly, it's still, all these years later, about my lovely and amazing Julia.

Why write it now? Well, I don't precisely know. Just a feeling I had. A feeling I'd had for a while. Something for just me and Julia. Something about how love emerges in ways we never could see while it was happening. Something I could do to thank her.

I'll tell you about us, a little at least, about what happened after those two weeks were up. I'll tell it to Julia, and hope she approves.

Me and Angela. The day I left her at her doorstep, the day of momentous love-making, we couldn't quite bring ourselves to say the simple words "I love you." A week later she came to my hospital room and, once some of the crowd moved out, we couldn't stop saying, "I love you." The love never left us after that day. Through periods good and bad and in between, the love never left. We're married now going on 62 years and she's as spry and pretty and funny and tough-minded an old bird as you'll find anywhere on this earth. Angela, my wife, my lover, my love.

She's out there in the garden now as I write. Angela knows what I'm doing and humors me, knows it's what I need for me and for Julia. She reminds me not to get too sappy and not to exaggerate "too much". (I guess a little is OK.) She doesn't want to read it, says she was there too for the really good parts, and that the bad parts can, in her words, "go f*** themselves."

You know I have to say it, so I will. We had our problems. Two years before we got married Julia told me I had to come clean about how it was with me and the guys and the panties and the blowjobs. I knew she was right and I did it. I sweated like a hog that day but I was not, repeat NOT, a pussy. Funny thing was although we'd been madly in love and dating and having all kinds of wonderful sex, Angela didn't seem all that surprised when I sat her down and stammered out an apology/explanation. We probably were both thinking of Bobby and what he'd said to her about me all those years earlier. Naturally, with an engagement ring on her finger, she wasn't very happy. Angela left me for 6 torturous months, I begged her to come back and finally she did, came back and recommitted to me based on certain understandings. We were married in June of 2021, just days before Pres. Trump's failed invasion of Canada in his second term, and since then I've lived up to her expectations best I could.

We had two girls of our own, Cecilia, named for Angela's mom, came along in 2025 and is now a heart surgeon practicing in Denver. Then we had Jane, after my mom, in 2028. Jane is an artist and painter in the Bay area. Each of the girls gave us great joy, great pride, great distress and great living-love (a phrase of Julia's). We worked hard to be good parents.

About the "understandings." No pickups, no one-night stands, no one she would know or could know, no one her friends knew, no love-affairs (just sex), no telling her about it, no hinting or moaning about it, and no crying on her shoulder about it. No one she would disapprove of, a high bar since her standards for men, for women and for life are pretty damned high. Angela is unafraid to let people know she disapproves of lots in this unhappy world. No being away with a man even for one night, not one single night, ever. Done.

We were sort of outrageously wealthy, mostly thanks to my Dad, but we tried to live simply. Our idea of an exotic vacation was to hike the Rockies with our girls, something we did for over 30 years. Angela worked many years in finance, was CFO of a good sized company for the last 20 years of her career, and retired 18 years ago. I worked mostly in freelance journalism, wrote a book or three, mostly non-fiction, but some short stories too. One of the books was even moderately successful. We both acted regularly in the small community theatre in our town. I had aged out of the Juliet role, but I still got to do my Neil Simon.

There was a fellow, William, one of the editors at my publishing house. He worked children's literature. I met him in my 40's and he and I were lovers for over 20 years. We were compatible. Books, music, politics, philosophy. Compatible. William loved his wife, I think almost as much as I loved Angela. She travelled for business once a quarter for four or five nights. On one of those nights William and I would have dinner together and get a hotel room. I'd wear panties. He liked that. But the full fem had become a thing of the past for me. I'd be home by 10 p.m. from "my meeting." Angela never met him but knew, referred to him as "the editor guy." William passed away 6 years ago. He was a fine man.

For a joint 80th birthday gift, our two daughters, together with their spouses and children, took us to the Big Island of Hawaii for a month. There, with Julia presiding, and more about that in a minute, Angela and I renewed our marriage vows on a gorgeous north shore beach. I still have the vows, hers and mine. Both were good, hers were better.

Hers ended with the lines: "After all, what's the difference between a young blonde of 19 with a pretty smile and great tits and a white haired hag of 80 with a great smile and droopy tits?" She had the congregation, all 9 of us, play along. "We don't know, Ang. What is the difference between a young blonde...etc etc." Angela laughed, held on to the moment and, with perfect timing, said, "I don't know. You'll have to ask Ben."

My answer then and my answer now is the same. They all looked to me, cheered me on, sharing our love and our excitement. I took Angela in my arms that night and kissed her deeply, as deeply and hungrily as any man half my age would. I looked to the congregation and said, "Well that's obvious. The tits." I know something about timing too and paused to find each of their eyes, and so they could find mine. "Cause everything else is the same, the same but better, much much better, much better than I could ever have imagined and much better than I could ever deserve." The cheers rolled over us as I went down on one creaky old artificial knee, took out the new ring and slipped it on her finger. She was my bride again.

Julia said, "And on that note, I now pronounce you..." but we didn't hear the rest. The crowd went wild. And so did we.

I try not to play "what if.." about our lives. But sometimes I can't help it. What if I hadn't slammed Bobby for that sneak shot of Angela's rear end way back when? Would none of this have happened? Was it because I was in a hurry to play with my new dildos? The Strykers I'd purchased the day I met Donnie and Dolores? If not for the dildos would I have laughed it off? Played along? Or maybe shrugged my shoulders and ignored it for the sake of my friendship with him? Did all of my happiness rest on that one quick decision? I guess the question sticks because it's impossible to know the answer. All I can do is thank the Lord for the grace of my bumbling love.

Julia. Things were hard for Julia. After the attack she was in therapy for about 10 years. Maybe it helped her, maybe not. A year after Angela and I married, Julia married a pro football player she met in college her senior year. It lasted about 18 months even though he was probably much less of a jerk than is usual for pro-athletes who fixate on finding the prettiest girl in the world. Julia had a series of affairs over the next few years and then married for the second time at the age of 32. This time to a reasonably wealthy business man, a wine importer, probably much more of a jerk than a moderately successful business man should be. It lasted almost 4 years.

Finally, in her late 40's she met Akoni Nawahei at one of Jane's shows in S.F. Akoni was a Hawaiian artist who lived in a jungle terrain about 30 miles outside Hilo on the Big Island. She moved there with him and opened an art gallery that became somewhat successful. And at last Julia had found true love, true love with her polar opposite. Akoni is a man huge and quiet and dark and mystical; my Julia is today as she was so long ago, slender and funny and verbal and fair-skinned and practical. And beautiful, inside and out beautiful still to this day. Akoni is certainly one of the best people I ever met in my life, tried and true, honest, reliable, deeply spiritual and fiercely talented. Fiercely attached to his place and his people and his love, his Julia. His paintings of those people and of their homeland are now prized by collectors world wide. He is, without a doubt, the man Julia had always searched for.

Around the time of her 60th birthday Julia was ordained into the ministry of some new-agey kind of religion. So in addition to running the gallery, she keeps busy marrying locals and tourists and helping the locals merge back into the good earth once they've said goodbye to it.

Angela and I get over to visit just about once per year. It is for us, not counting the times we get with our daughters and their kids, the best and happiest time of year. Turns out Julia and I can still talk our asses off to one another, can still talk about anything and everything, and can still make each other laugh deep into the night, those Hawaiian nights.

It was on a visit in our 70's that Julia proposed her plan to renew our vows. We were reluctant at first. It seemed too theatrical and we were quiet people. We couldn't see bothering our busy children with it, it was too much. So Julia sold it to Cecilia and Jane and they more or less forced it on us. It only turned out to be about the best thing that ever happened to us.

Akoni died last spring. Julia presided. We were there for her. Her heart was broken. But despite ourselves and our vanity and selfishness, despite our being wrong about so many things in life, we knew this one thing: A broken heart? What's that little thing? It's what life is for. We celebrated the life of a great man, and we knew to pity those whose hearts would never be broken.

Angela and I, we knew that. Her death bed or mine. It wouldn't make much difference.

One more thing about us all. Julia and Angela have been like sisters for more than 60 years. They chatted and texted and spoke and shared all things good and bad year round. But when we went to visit it was always the same. Julia and Akoni would pick us up at the airport. Upon seeing us come out of the terminal first Angela and then Julia would point at the other in astonishment and announce: "You!"

My Parents My Mom Jane passed away at age 72, my Dad at 78. They were strong and loving parents till the very end. It is to them I owe the little successes I've had in life.

Julia's Parents Uncle Roger died pretty young, 57 I think it was. But Aunt Beth was a mover and a shaker till her death at age 86. She remarried within years of Uncle's death, married to the town manager back home, and began a campaign to beautify the parks, one of which is now named in her honor.

Bobo He lived about a year longer after the day when he helped save Julia. And me. Julia had him in the back yard that day playing a gentle game of fetch. He gimped towards the ball she says, stopped, turned to look at her and then laid down to die. Still today she carries a photo of Bobo in her wallet, from a time when he was young and handsome and strong. Years later in Hawaii, after she and Akoni had found one another, she finally adopted a stray female. She named her Bobette.

Bobby He never did get that scholarship. We stayed friends after I took up with Angela but we both knew the temperature of the relationship had changed. He visited me just once when I was home that summer recuperating. Somehow we never did get over the awkwardness of it all. He moved back East, married there to a girl I never met and created a landscaping company. I saw him just a few more times after that, mainly at reunions and when Will died. We got on fine.

Harry He and I were out of touch for almost 15 years when he contacted me out of the blue over social media. He'd quit the finance world in favor of sports management and had become the agent for a number of NFL players, some of them big stars. We talked on the phone and put each other on Christmas card lists. He told me he still had never acted on his desire to do a certain thing with a certain kind of man. Told me too that his count for other things had gone from 3 to 5. He was a good man too. As far as I know he never married.

Josh He contacted Julia twice wanting to get together. But she never responded. Last I heard from Harry he was still with his wife Debra in London.

Donnie and Dolores Were another miss. They reached back to me a few weeks after the debacle of their sex party. Donnie called. He clearly did not know of the attack on me and Julia and I didn't feel like getting into the whole thing. Told me they were getting together with Mona and another couple in a few weeks and asked was I interested. Told me Jerrod was no longer part of the picture, which I found interesting. I wanted to ask more about the Jerrod thing but thought better of it. I declined his invitation and that, as they say, was that. I wished them both well and they reciprocated that feeling.

Mona She, on the other hand, had learned of the attack on us. Called Julia. Called her mom. Called me. Poured out her heart and apologized profusely if what she did had caused any hurt. We accepted the apology even though I never really thought any of it was her fault. But Julia had to go out of town thereafter to buy underwear. She got Aunt Beth to do the same, though Beth never knew why.

Charlie I never saw him again after that one eventful day. Twenty years after that Julia was home visiting her Mom and they went out for a drive. On a whim Aunt Beth pulled the car into Sprague's "Home Made" Ice Cream. Julia begged off so Beth went to the window alone. From the car Julia could see Charlie leaning out the window to take her mom's order. Says he still looked good too. There was no sign of a younger sister.

Sammie I finally got to meet him at Julia's first wedding. Then again at her second wedding. She and he had stayed close. He visited her and Akoni in Hawaii a few times, they returned the favor in Seattle a few times. He was a nice, quiet, shy kind of nerdy guy, the same way I'd pictured him. Hard to picture him as a titan of the tech industry but that's what everyone tells me. His husband Raoul was with him for the second marriage ceremony. They seemed pretty happy. Julia had put him in the top five, which is good enough for me.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson He was sentenced to 19 years at the state maximum security prison. Julia and I were given compassionate release from having to testify at the trial. We did participate remotely with just lawyers present. The subject of stolen goods never came up. Mrs. Anderson divorced him about two months after the attack. She sold the house and moved somewhere down South, we never knew exactly where. Mr. Anderson ended up serving all but two years of his sentence. Upon his release he took a job as a counselor at a half way home for drug addicts. He died at age 62.

Mr. Sanders Mr. Sanders became a local celebrity, even a state wide celebrity. News programs liked to have him as a guest and would inevitably ask him to demonstrate the tee-shot that saved our lives. You could tell he enjoyed telling his story, and may have hammed it up a bit. He lived just 4 years after the attack. During that time Julia and I visited him quite a bit. We didn't talk much about the attack. There would have been nothing to say. Our best visits were the ones when Julia made her angel cake again, the cake that Sadie had made so many years earlier. The whole town turned out for his funeral, and Julia and I were seated up front with his children and their families.

One Last Thing Angela and I are headed out to the Big Island in ten days time. It's Julia's birthday, and maybe the last one we'll get to spend together. She's got some sort of heart valve problem they don't want to touch at her age. Angela and I aren't exactly in perfect health either. So maybe the last one. I've been searching high and low for just the right gift. Angela too. But it's hard. Julia has what she wants, has what she needs, lives still in the house Akoni built, lives still with his art and with his memory. With Bobette. So I think the gift will just be the two of us. Her gift to us has been every minute we've spent together. So just us. And maybe a box of those caramel clusters she loves. She says they're hard to get out there.